


My Hat Instead of Myself

by lavender_tourist



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Humor, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavender_tourist/pseuds/lavender_tourist
Summary: A little adventure. Some daring escapes, some friendly japes... and a surprise! Takes place during/in between The Colour of Magic and The Light Fantastic.
Relationships: Rincewind & Twoflower (Discworld)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	My Hat Instead of Myself

_“There’s the wizard! Get him!”_

Mud flowed through the gutters of the nameless barbarian city, but Rincewind was running far too fast to slip on it.

He’d tricked himself into believing that this time, he’d keep his head down, that this time, he could make it through an entire village— _town,_ even—without getting beat up, shot at, poked, stabbed, chased, or having heavy objects thrown in his direction. As punishment for this audacious notion, he’d been proven wrong on all accounts. In the same day, no less.

_“Which one is he?”_

_“The one with the funny hat!”_

Rincewind had been on his best behavior long before he entered the gates. A country whose only export was bloodthirsty lunatics carrying sharp weapons was no place to act rashly. He had avoided all ladders, mirrors, and cats, duly avoided anyone who looked like they might try to give him a quest, and had in fact barely spoken at all so as to reduce the chance of tempting Fate. But apparently, that wasn’t enough when you had a friend with a hobby of stealing precious artifacts from barbarian kings.

The little bastard had abandoned him just as soon as the palace guards noticed the display was empty. Their eyes had locked on Rincewind, who alone stood next to it. Thus he had spent the last hour fleeing from a steadily increasing number of heavily-armed heroes who had spent far too long guarding the treasure pile of the most gifted mass-murderer of the week. They were positively itching for a victim. He was going to _kill_ that smarmy four-eyed little twit as soon as he—

_"_ _Found him!”_

Rincewind rounded a corner and stopped milimeters short of being gored by an impressive array of spears, swords, sickles, scimitars, sais, scythes, swallows, and a whole lot of pointy things beginning with the other 25 letters. He leapt backward to avoid the first jabs and felt the pinpoint press of steel at his back. Without looking behind, he ducked, rolled sideways, and heard cries of agony from the barbarians facing those with poor reflexes. He didn’t smile. Getting stabbed would only make them angrier.

Menacing stone-carved buildings leered at him, their shadows turning streets into alleyways, and alleyways into pockets of night. If running wouldn’t do the trick, the next best thing was to hide. Rincewind slid into the passage between the ever-expanding city mausoleum and the ancient temple which had long ago been repurposed for storing hoards of treasure. He realized, with vague despair, that he’d nearly made a complete circle.

As he backed inside, shrouded in fog and darkness, he began mentally calculating how far away the shouting and footsteps were from his position, and—

—nearly jumped out of his skin as he stepped into someone behind him.

“There you are!”

Rincewind whirled around, wondering why he hadn’t been stabbed in the back. Then he scowled.

“My, isn’t this exciting?” Twoflower was about as concerned as a moth in a lightbulb.

“Where have you _been?!”_

“Oh, watching the fights. They’ve broken out all over the city, did you know? Something must have caused quite the fuss.”

“The _‘fuss’_ was you stealing the gauntlet of Dag the Subjugator and pinning it on me!”

“Is that how it started? Over a little souvenir? Well, everyone’s stirred up now. I daresay something interesting’s going to happen.”

Rincewind pictured himself being disembowelled a hundred different ways, and wondered if any of them qualified as “interesting” to Twoflower. He snarled. “Go ahead, then. _Keep_ the damned thing. You’ll get a nice view of my entrails once Dag’s minions find us.”

He frowned at Rincewind. “Well, I would have gladly paid for it, except there didn’t seem to be any merchants around, and the nice men at the door had run off yelling about a magician—”

_"That’s me!”_

“—and anyway, I went back and left a few _rhinu_ on the pillar, so I thought it would be all right.”

Rincewind rubbed his eyes. He’d run out of ways to try and shake some sense into the man long ago. “Just give it back, will you?”

“Ah. Well. No can do, on account of having lost my Luggage again.” Twoflower’s smile turned apologetic in the face of Rincewind’s death glare. “I’m sure it’ll turn up by tomorrow, though. Then we can get this all sorted out.”

“Oh, wonderful! And in the meantime, I’ll just tell the guards that we’ll return the stolen treasure once your magic box is done eating people, and then we’ll all go and have a tea party, is that right?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. The Chimerians aren’t known for their tea.”

Rincewind made a noise of immense frustration. 

The voices were getting louder now.

 _“That him? He not one of us.”_ _  
_

_“No, he isn’t wearing a hat.”_ _  
_

_“Him maybe? He wear hat.”_ _  
_

_“That’s a helmet! We’re talking about a wizards’ hat with weird markings on it!”_

_“Hey, I saw someone with a big hat go that way!”_

_“Let’s go!”_

“Rincewind, is that all they—” Rincewind clamped a hand over Twoflower’s mouth.

_“Sh!”_

_“Is that all they know about you, your hat?”_ he whispered.

Rincewind thought. _“Maybe. A lot of them have seen me already,”_ he whispered back. _“But a lot of them haven’t.”_

There was a long silence. The voices drew nearer, and were joined by others. The mob grew. They fed off of one another’s bloodthirst, nurturing and spreading it, without rhyme or reason, goal or consequence, as groups of adventurers tend to do. They had likely forgotten the gauntlet or never heard about it.

_“Why don’t you just get rid of it, then?”_

Rincewind stared at him like he was mad. _“Are you mad? I can’t get rid of my hat. I’m a wizard. What kind of wizard doesn’t have a hat?”_

Twoflower looked at Rincewind. Rincewind looked at Twoflower. He seemed like he wanted to say something. Instead, he simply took the most idiotic course of action available to him.

Twoflower snatched Rincewind’s hat off his head and ran off with it.

 _“There he is!”_ _  
_

To his amazement, the mob took the bait immediately, and tore after the very-much-not-Rincewind person as he hurried down the street. A few even stopped and sniffed at Rincewind in the gutter outside the alleyway, apparently not noting anything interesting about him.

Rincewind was in shock. _Stupid! Of all the half-witted ideas he’s had, this just about does it! Where the bloody hell is he going?!_ He shook his head and charged after the mob, cursing.

Heroes were generally not experienced runners. They didn’t need to be; what they sought was adventure, and they tended to find it without having to go very fast. Rincewind found himself advancing upon the crowd with great haste.

 _Hah!_ he thought. _Who does he think he is, trying to outrun me? I’m more experienced in running away than anyone on the Disc!_

There was a problem with this line of thinking, however. For once in his life, Rincewind failed to consider the difference between running _to_ and running _from._ Running _from_ required little other than mortal terror and a clear path away from danger. Running _to_ required tactics, planning, objectives, ideas about what the future held. Rincewind had never bothered with any of those, so in trying to locate Twoflower he was at a sore disadvantage.

He also had the worst possible guide. Just as he was about to overtake the band of overzealous murderers, all of them split into different directions, each apparently failing to notice that none of the others had followed them. Rincewind coughed on dust, and found himself standing in an intersection between a plethora of haphazardly-placed streets.

A creeping panic settled over him, and for once, it was on behalf of someone else. If Rincewind didn’t catch up with Twoflower, and _fast,_ Twoflower would be cornered. And killed. In fact, he was probably already cornered, thought Rincewind. He didn’t want to think about the next part.

But where to go, where to go… all directions seemed equally misguided.

He was getting dizzy from turning in circles when he heard the familiar odd-time gallop of hundreds of tiny little legs. The _Luggage!_ The little devil would prove to be useful at last; since it followed its owner anywhere, all Rincewind would need to do was get the timing correct… aaaand… _now!_

It bolted through the square (dodecagon was probably more accurate) at lightning speed. Rincewind’s reflexes weren’t so quick as to grab the forward-facing handle, but were good enough to get the backend one, and so instead of riding The Luggage he ended up being dragged through the dirt and bruising himself on anything it trampled on while his left arm made a valiant effort to not get dislocated.

He couldn’t see where they were going, but that was all right because he knew they ought to be going the right way. Rincewind could hear screams that weren’t his (and he knew so because they sounded further off) which, looking back, probably wasn’t the best sign, but what could he do? Hold on tight.

The screams became louder and, after his vehicle had broken down several walls, more distinct. Rincewind should have put it together at this point but didn’t manage it until he heard the awful sounds of people being dismantled by rows upon rows of very sharp teeth. One of his hands was free, so he got to choose which side of his head the noises came from, but was unable to mute them entirely. The only mercy was that it all happened so terribly fast.

After The Luggage had finished its rampage it continued along as fast as it had before. _Good,_ thought Rincewind, swallowing back the contents of his stomach, _Now we can get on with finding Tw—_

—and immediately lost them again as the Luggage made a right angle around a corner. He lost all hope of a grip and was sent plummeting off a platform of stone, missing the stairs by inches. 

Rincewind ragdolled onto a merchant stall’s awning, which collapsed, sending him along with dozens of papayas rolling down a hill. At the bottom of the hill was a pit of spikes. He was able to steer the papayas to avoid imminent death, which had the side effect of landing him in the lake of piranhas next to it. After skipping across the lake of piranhas, Rincewind ducked into a nearby building to escape a falling anvil, which turned out to be a ladies’ washroom, so he rushed through it apologizing profusely as undergarments and throwing-axes were hurled at his head. He stopped outside the axe-riddled door to catch his breath, and a nearby horse kicked him in the ribs.

Rincewind peeled himself off the ground a few meters away and patted himself to make sure everything was still there. Miraculously, apart from some stray blood that had gotten on the outside, it was. 

He looked around. He was on a familiar street, which was saying something, because all the streets in this city were unfamiliar. There was a big stone wall, which every proper city ought to have, in Rincewind’s opinion, as well as—

Aha. He had reached the city’s only gate. This was good, because he was interested in leaving as soon as possible. Less good was the long line of crossbows standing in front of it.

 _Phew,_ he thought, realizing that their lines of fire were too narrowly entwined to be targeting him. _At least it’s not me this time._

_… Who is it, I wonder…?_

_… Oh,_ blast—

He was still wearing Rincewind’s hat.

Rincewind’s legs got up and started walking towards Twoflower all on their own. It didn’t matter, of course. He’d never make it fast enough. He began to run. And then he’d be killed, too, just like that. It didn’t matter, he thought deliriously. The Luggage would turn up. It always does, just in time. It’s probably settled all its vendettas already. Those men will be eaten up right about n—

Twoflower moved an inch. All the crossbows fired at once. He collapsed behind a stone pillar, hand over heart. There was a sickening crunch.

They both stopped dead.

Rincewind was made of ice. He watched, frozen, as a few of the hunters came and looted the body. They pulled handfuls of gold from the pockets. He couldn’t help noticing that it was stained with the same thick, red fluid that now pooled around their feet. Suddenly, reality set in. Rincewind thawed, little by little, and sank to his knees in their presence. Cowering. Yes. Cowering is what he was doing.

The men were stuffing Twoflower’s money into their loincloths with animated haste. That stole a flicker of anger across Rincewind’s countenance. Not the looting—that was just what heroes did, but they really had forgotten about the damned gauntlet. They had killed him for _nothing._ Rincewind might’ve shouted at them if he wasn’t so scared. 

Then he covered his eyes so he didn’t have to watch them try to use the picture box. 

_Serves him right,_ thought Rincewind. _Serves him bloody right. Going around, looking at things. Making trouble. Isn’t normal. Wasn’t normal. And now it’s finally caught up with him. Serves him right, it does._

He looked up. Almost everyone had gone. Even the statues who’d been observing the scene seemed to lose interest. But there was one watcher, a tall black silhouette atop the dawn rooftops, which could not be mistaken for any gargoyle. Not with that long black cloak fluttering in the frigid air. 

It could damn well wait a minute.

Rincewind picked himself up and crept over to Twoflower. Twoflower’s body. He picked up his hat from where it lie by its side, and noticed with horror that it was a brighter red than usual. For the first time in his life he refused to put it on, not until he could find a really good stain-remover.

He looked down at the body, and fought something. _Better you than me,_ his mind protested. Twoflower had even agreed, evidently. They both knew he hadn’t been the one they were after, it was supposed to be Rincewind.

But Rincewind was learning, from the way his stomach roiled at that last thought, that he preferred to save his _own_ skin. He didn’t need other people going and doing it for him.

He crouched down and put a hand on the shoulder, intending to roll it on its back. Touching it made him feel so much worse. But it wouldn’t do to have the eyes open and staring at him while he… while he tried to find a place to bury it.

Rincewind inhaled shakily, pulled, and was horrified to see that the thing’s face was frozen in an inexplicable rictus of glee. Then it let go of its breath in a dramatic burst of laughter.

“Did I fool you?”

Twoflower was clutching half of a broken arrow over his chest. There was no wound there. 

Rincewind’s soul left him for a moment. While gone, it contemplated things like life, death, the universe, and whether being given a good scare was an appropriate justification for murder.

Then it returned, and the answer was very nearly _“yes.”_

“You… you little…”

“I fooled you, didn’t I?” The little twat was still smiling. He was positively _jumping_ with joy.

Rincewind sputtered hopelessly. “Of course you didn’t! I could’ve seen you were just pretending a mile off!”

“Silly me, then,” said Twoflower, a twinkle in his eye. “Obviously a wizard would be able to tell such a thing.”

He stood up and brushed himself off. Rincewind sniffed disdainfully.

“I’ll just have to find more opportunities to practice!”

 _“No!_ What are you talking about, you could’ve _died—”_

That damned laugh again. Rincewind’s face burned. 

Twoflower discarded the arrow and set off towards the city gates, passing a volley of arrows buried in a pillar. His left shoe made red footprints. Rincewind was still shaking his head when he remembered something important.

“Hold on,” he said, catching up with Twoflower. “Are you really alright? That’s an awful lot of…” He gestured to the state of his clothing.

Twoflower glanced down at the stains, as if noticing them for the first time. “Oh, gods!” he cried. “That bottle of healing potion was in my left pocket! I must’ve fallen on it...” He started picking bits of broken glass out of his clothing. Rincewind rolled his eyes, squeezed out his hat a bit, and put it on. He guessed that a food vendor in this city must have _some_ way of marketing cranberry juice to adventurers.

“Do you think that we can go back and get another one? The shops open early today, I think. We could even visit the palace again on the wa—”

Rincewind’s only response was to take his shoulders and lead him through the gates as fast as possible.

A few seconds later, The Luggage sauntered after them, leaving a trail of quivering crossbows in its bloody wake. 

Death sighed at the mess.


End file.
